


One of Those Faces

by frozensight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-24
Updated: 2012-04-24
Packaged: 2017-11-04 06:00:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frozensight/pseuds/frozensight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew it was improbable--fuck, he knew it was <i>impossible</i> --but for some reason that didn't stop him getting up and following the man who looked an awful lot like an angel he once knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of Those Faces

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, I guess I should mention that this is set post s7.

To begin with: Dean didn’t even know why he was in an airport—he hated the damn places because he hated planes and he hated flying, but after fender bender with some asshole who didn’t have insurance, he didn’t exactly have another way of getting out to Sam’s place in California for Christmas. So that’s why he was sitting in an airport when he saw someone he hadn’t seen in years, not since that last showdown with the leviathans, not since before Sam and he had called it quits (well Sam had, Dean still hunted the occasional vampire or ghost when he wasn’t busy trying to rebuild Bobby’s house).

His feet moved without permission, and before he could tell himself _no_ , he slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and hurried down the corridor towards a terminal that wasn’t even his.

It was difficult keeping up, too many people, and honed hunter skills or not, it was a pain trying to maneuver amongst all those bodies that seemed to be going in every single direction that wasn’t the one he wanted to go. He kept losing sight of him. Dean wasn’t short by any means, but he kept getting jostled and disorientated. Eventually he just kept his eyes to the ground, figuring that was the easiest way to keep track of him. Shoes, the same as they had always been. Pants, straight as ever. Beige trenchcoat swaying out behind him.

Dean hadn’t been able to say goodbye. Fucking Dick Roman hadn’t given him a chance. They’d only just gotten Castiel back completely because getting him to remember he wasn’t some weird healer guy named Emmanuel didn’t count. This time he was sane, was Castiel, and was supposed to be around for good.

Funny how things never fucking work out for Dean Winchester, especially when in the business of saving the world for certain doom.

He knew it was irrational to go after this man because really, he and Sam had done every possible thing to try and find Castiel after the battle. They’d even gone to Crowley, who was the last person wanting Castiel alive, and he’d said there was no helping their trenchcoat-loving angel. Deep down he knew it wasn’t Castiel—he _knew_ —but that didn’t stop him from following all the same.

At one point he caught a good glimpse of the man’s hair, and briefly Dean thought it was weird that Castiel would have sprinkles of grey hair—he didn’t think angels aged while they were in their vessels. Immediately he had to chastise himself because it wasn’t Castiel, it wasn’t and it couldn’t be.

Why was he still trailing, and gaining on the man then?

For a moment Dean worried that he’d actually lost him because neither his familiar tussled dark hair or the trenchcoat could be seen from where he stood, but then he saw him off to the side, pausing at a McDonalds to get coffee. Angels hadn’t required nutrition of any form last he’d checked, but then again that didn’t mean they couldn’t indulge. Castiel certainly had that one time when going against Famine, so who’s to say he hadn’t picked up a coffee addiction since coming back from dying (again).

Except it wasn’t Castiel.

Dean wanted to punch himself, to slam his head against the nearest available cinderblock wall. He’d known it wasn’t him from the beginning because Castiel had died that day, along with Dick Roman, and Bobby. There was no way to bring him back with angelic, human, or demonic means. Castiel was dead forever, a young angel, who trusted far too much in humans, who put too much faith in two men with the last name Winchester, who died before he should’ve because he was trying to fix his own foolish mistake.

That didn’t mean the man wasn’t someone from Dean’s past, just albeit one he never thought he’d see again.

He’d aged, as he should’ve, and he didn’t seem to take much notice of Dean when he stood next to him to order something from the dollar menu. The angels must’ve done something to his memory if he didn’t remember Dean because you remember the man who helped saved your wife and daughter from demons and had carted you around as the precious vessel to their personal guardian angel.

It’d been a long time since Dean had seen just Jimmy Novak and not Castiel in Jimmy Novak’s body, but that’s who stood there accepting his large and probably mediocre coffee from the girl behind the counter.

“Do I know you?” inquired Jimmy, a frown on his face, and Dean’s heart ached because it was like seeing Castiel’s ghost in so many ways. This was and wasn’t Castiel. It was the same body, though a couple years older, it was almost the same voice just not as deep and gravelly, and the eyes, God the eyes were still the same blue, though maybe not as bright as they had been when the body had been inhabited by an angel of the Lord.

Snapping out of his trance, Dean replied, “S-Sorry, you look an awful lot like a friend of mine who I haven’t seen in a while.”

If Jimmy noticed that Dean’s voice cracked, he was kind enough not to mention it when he said, “I’ve been getting that a lot recently. I guess there must be some new reality TV star who vaguely resembles me!” He laughed at his own joke, and suddenly Dean didn’t think he could stomach the burger he’d just ordered. “Well have a good day!”

Dean managed a jerky wave goodbye as he watched Jimmy walk away in Castiel’s body, with Castiel’s face, with Castiel’s trenchcoat, with Castiel’s eyes because to Dean, all those things were Castiel. It was how he’d come to know and befriend the angel. It was how he’d grown to trust and accept the angel into his little hodgepodge of a family. It was how he’d learned to love someone who wasn’t Sam as deeply as family, but in a way that he hadn’t managed with Lisa. It was how he remembered Castiel the day he died, and it killed him inside to see that same body, that same voice, those same eyes look at him and not remember who he was at all.


End file.
